


Songs for the Sunrise

by Starren_Moonstone



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jon actually sings, Jon talks about his feelings, M/M, Runaway thoughts, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Winter Solstice, Yuletide, because he should sing more, failed ritual AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starren_Moonstone/pseuds/Starren_Moonstone
Summary: Jon has a way to celebrate the Winter Solstice. Except he never told Martin beforehand.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68
Collections: The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge





	Songs for the Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This is the week three story I wrote for The Magnus Archives Flash Fiction Challenge. The prompts I used were Yule, alarm, and hold on. I am very proud of myself for being able to work all the prompts in this time. Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> As a note, Jon has he/they pronouns in this story. I was in the mood to write some he/they Jon.

Martin bolts awake at the sound of an alarm. For a flash of a moment, he believed himself back home in London, the alarm being set in order to get to work on time at the archive. Then he remembers that his alarm sounds different. His alarm sounds like chiming bells. This one drones a lot like Jon’s does… This is Jon’s alarm, and Martin is no where close to London and hasn’t for about 4 months now. Jon was decently quick to turn it off, however because of the entanglement the two of them get into at night, Martin was too jostled to go back to sleep. 

“Really, Jon?” Martin groans, rubbing his eyes as Jon got out of bed. “Why did you set an alarm? It’s not even light out.”

“Exactly.” There is a tone in Jon’s voice that Martin is not used to hearing from him this early in the morning.

Martin groans. “Jon.”

Jon comes by the bedside, touching his forehead to Martin’s. “It’s the solstice, the longest night.”

“Jon, love, that tells me nothing.”

“Come with me then. I’ll make you breakfast after the sun rises, how’s that?”

Martin blinks slowly, trying to think about Jon’s words clearly. “What are you doing?”

Jon grins again, and winks. “You’ll see,” he says, being vague and mysterious for fun before slipping away again, and finishes getting changed. By the time he returns back to the bedside, Martin does throw his legs out of bed, stretching his arms over his head. “You may want to put something warm on,” Jon suggests, “It is a bit brisk outside.”

Martin hums noncommittal. “Sure. But why are we going outside?”

“Well, let’s just say the sun needs some encouragement to rise.” Jon does not stay long enough for Martin to inquire further, leaving the bigger man on the bed in absolute confusion. He does put on a jumper, and thick socks before exiting the bedroom. Jon already has a coat on, swinging the purple scarf Martin got him a few weeks ago around his neck. 

“Jon, please,” Martin says.

Jon hands Martin his coat, the excited smile still on his face. This is the most excited Martin has ever seen Jon so early in the morning without tea. It is the oddest thing. As much as Martin loves seeing Jon like this, he would like to know why. 

The two of them walk out of the cottage into the cold open air. The sky is starting to get lighter, but the sun hasn’t risen yet. They don’t walk far, merely to the little garden that the two of them have started to cultivate. The whole time, Jon hangs on Martin’s arm. “This is the turning point of the year,” Jon finally starts to explain, “Since the summer solstice, the days have been steadily growing shorter, while the nights have been growing longer. So now, the days will start growing longer again.”

“But why are we out here?”

“As I said before,” Jon says with a grin, “The sun needs a little bit of help rising.”

Martin raises an eyebrow, as Jon leans into Martin a little more for a moment. He clears his throat, and starts to sing. 

“Now the Samhain is over  
And the Sidhe have returned to their home,  
The dead have followed the Raven’s song,  
And no longer among us they roam.”

Jon rarely sings. Especially during the time they spent in the Archives. Martin was surprised when he woke up one morning, Jon still in bed with him, quietly singing while playing with Martin’s wavy hair.   


“The wisdom of our ancient past,  
Show us how to ride the storm,  
For their tombs they swallow the rising sun,  
And the Mabon is always reborn.  
So come all you people, come and sing with me,  
Join our voices, and sing the long nights away,  
All over the land, a chorus of voices will sing,  
For the rising Sun on Midwinter’s Day.”

Martin picked up on the tune by the final chorus, which he hummed along with Jon. The first few rays of light peak up from the horizon far beyond. Despite everything, the sun still rises and live carries on to the steady pace of time. 

88888

Martin and Jon rarely inhabit the kitchen at the same time for cooking. Either Martin will be cooking and Jon will be sitting at the table with their nose in a book, or Jon will be cooking and Martin will be trying to write poetry and just end up staring at Jon lovingly. However, whenever both of them are cooking at the same time, it usually ends in one or the other huffing it out after an argument and apologizing later before bed. 

“But I think this will work,” Jon says, as Martin brings this fact up, “Because you are making a pasta dish and I am making cookies.”

“You say this now, and I can guarantee that one of us will walk out of this kitchen,” Martin says, a little guarded.

“Well, certainly yes with that attitude,” Jon says sassily, starting to gather the ingredients he needs to make the cookies he wants. The last time he made solstice cookies was when they were in research with Tim and Sasha. He brought them in anonymously, and everyone loved them; they never had the heart to tell anyone they made them out of fear of what they would say and ask. Jon sighs a little sad. When they were promoted to Head Archivist… well… they got too wrapped up in the mysteries of the place and the fears, and then they were just in constant danger. It is only now that they feel safe enough to truly celebrate freely. They stare at the bowl filled with butter and sugar. 

It’s a terrible thought really, and as much as Jon tries to redirect himself from the thought. The last few years have been wasted on fear. Not that Jon had any true control of it. Forced to stay in his job, not wanting to die. How much did he miss of life being trapped within the Archives? A lot. Truly. Not being able to watch the progression of the seasons and instead stuck watching the progression of fears as they gripped at his soul one by one. Marked, each one of them scaring him. He can name them all. Would he be able to go back to a normal life when all this is over? Or are they too warped as a monster to be able to have a normal human life?

“Jon?” Martin’s voice crashed through Jon’s thought process, “Is everything ok?”

Jon turns to look at Martin, they grab his wrist in an attempt to ground themself. 

“Yes, I know, mixing something like this on the counter is weird, but I cleaned it and all…” Martin stops talking as Jon buries his face in Martin’s chest. “Oh…” They both stand there like that; Jon holding onto Martin for dear life while Martin with his flour coated hands tries not to cover Jon in the stuff. “At this rate,” Martin eventually pipes up, “We aren’t going to have anything for dinner.”

“We have soup.” Jon’s voice is muffled by Martin’s shirt.

“Do you want soup?”

Jon makes a disgruntled sound. 

“Yeah, I thought not.”

Jon peels themself away from Martin, and watches on for a while as Martin mixes together the dough for the pasta. They get lost like that for a while, until Martin starts humming a tune. Jon vaguely recognizes it, and tries to place the reason why.  


“We gotta hold on to what we got  
It doesn’t make a difference  
If we make it or not  
We’ve got each other   
And that’s enough”

Jon can’t help but chuckle a bit as they join in obnoxiously with “for love,” earning them some water droplets to be flecked in their face. 

“Make your cookies, and leave Bon Jovi in peace,” Martin says, rolling his eyes. 

“Just saying, you started it.” Jon would have left it at that, but no. Martin continues humming “Living on a Prayer”, and the musician in Jon cannot help but join in. To the point where it ends up that the pasta is only half made, and the cookies long abandoned to make way for an impromptu kitchen musical number, ending with Jon’s arms wrapped around Martin’s neck, and Martin making sure Jon wouldn’t fall unceremoniously to the ground. 

Martin tries very hard not to laugh to much, seeing the position the two of them are in. “Can I make the right assumption that you were a theatre kid?” Martin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“I may have been involved in the school theatre,” Jon says coyly, “Is that such important information?”

“It would explain this a lot,” Martin says, the sentence breaking into laughter. “As well as why you were in a band.”

“I mean, you don’t have to be a theatre kid to be in a band.”

“Mmm, no, but it just fits better that way. Because it’s you.”

“Oh, is that all?”

They both break into laughter. Jon eventually sighs, and maneuvers themself to rest their forehead on Martin’s shoulder.

“Jon, I do need to finish the pasta,” Martin says, peaking over to where the cookie mixture is left undone. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m just… sad.”

“Sad.”

“Yes.”

“That is very specific, Jon,” Martin says sarcastically. Jon snorts. “What are you sad about?”

“It’s just… realizing that I’ve missed a lot the past few years. We all have.” Jon looks at Martin’s eyes, already feeling out of their depth.

“Maybe so, but it’s not like we could have changed anything.”

“I could have not been a paranoid prick.”

“And I could have been bolder. The point is… we both did what we could with what we were given. And we are here, aren’t we? I think that’s good enough for me.”

Jon nods, still not moving from their spot on Martin’s shoulder. They can feel Martin trying to move to finish up the pasta, and grabs a hold of Martin’s arm. “I’m just… worried. We can’t stay here forever and… well…” Jon lets the thought trail.

Martin looks at Jon, a gentle smile on his face. “Just take my hand,” Martin sings, “And we’ll make it I swear.”

Jon leans into Martin. “Promise?” Jon asks.

“Promise.”


End file.
